


Better Late Than—

by hitlikehammers



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: BAMF Angelica, BAMF Eliza, Ben Wa Balls, Cock Rings, Dom(ish)!Angelica, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Not-Quite Threesome, Other, Revenge Sex, Voyeur(ish) Angelica, of a sort, protective angelica
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:05:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitlikehammers/pseuds/hitlikehammers
Summary: It tightens something horrible in Angelica’s chest because Alexander was right, she is like him; it tightens, and then it hardens into something stronger than resolve, because Angelica loves her sister. More than anything.
 And she doesn’t know if she can fix this, but she crossed an ocean, and she’ll be damned if she fails to try.   She will do something. Angelica helps Eliza put her husband in his place.   (Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza, 4/25)





	

**Author's Note:**

> The fourth of the 25 Days/Fics of my Winter Gift Fic Extravaganza. For an off-Ao3 friend. Hopefully I didn't totally cock-up writing this fandom <3
> 
> And contrary to what this fic may imply: I don't hate Alexander's character. I find him annoying generally, and he's no hero, but.

It only takes a few words between them: simple. Because for as much as she knows her sister, over time that knowledge has grown to be only slightly more keen than how her sister knows her.

They know _each other_.

“I should have known.”

Eliza shakes her head. “I knew. We both did.”

She breathes, and turns doe-eyes toward Angelica, whose arms are wrapped around Eliza like armor; whose chin is tipped to the crown of her precious sister’s head to kiss gently, to remind her that she’s loved when the tears start spilling once more.

“He was enough for me,” she confesses, breathless, and it tightens something horrible in Angelica’s chest, because the thought that Eliza deserved more, better, is only outweighed by the thought that there was anyone in the entire world for whom she could fail to be enough.

It tightens something horrible in Angelica’s chest because he was right, she _is_ like him, and it would never be a reflection on another soul for her to fail to be satisfied. 

It tightens, and then it hardens into something stronger than resolve, because she loves her sister. More than anything.

And she doesn’t know if she can fix this, but she crossed an ocean, and she’ll be damned if she fails to try. 

She _will_ do _something_.

 

——————————————

 

The neck of her dress is still damp from her sister’s tears as she leans, as she watches the hunched lines of that body over his desk—still slender, still hollow at the cheeks, sallow in the color if you knew where to look—scrawling endless, barely bothering to pause, to breathe. He doesn’t notice Angelica at the doorway for minutes, longer. 

She begins to understand the reality she only suspected, now

“There was a time,” Angelica tells him, and he jumps, turns to face her with parted lips, wide eyes; “when it would have been enough to give her time, to give her just a piece of all that you are.”

He tries to speak, but Angelica will not have it. Not now.

“You’re a selfish man, Alexander,” Angelica tells him, because she thinks maybe he’s blind enough not to know that simple truth. “You’ve forgotten how far you’ve come on the kindness of others. You’ve forgotten where you’d be if good hearts hadn’t believed in you, hadn’t felt for you,” she pauses, ponders whether to twist the knife but only for a moment:

“Hadn’t pitied you.”

Alexander flinches, the power of his pen hanging limp between those elegant fingers, and dear lord, but she cannot stifle the way he makes her heart flutter, even as he makes it pound heavy with rage.

She cannot look at him. She cannot stay here, with him, alone in the dark.

“You can’t write your way out of this, Alexander.”

She parts upon those words, and closes the door behind her.

 

——————————————

 

They lie on the chaise, Eliza cradled against Angelica for comfort, Angelica stroking her hair over and again, mussing it more than smoothing it but there it is.

The sun sets; Alexander isn’t yet home. No surprise.

Eliza is far too still.

“He’ll never be satisfied, my love,” Angelica drops a kiss to her sister’s brow, and hugs her tighter.

“Like you,” Eliza mutters miserably; takes Angelica’s hand and squeezes, hard. “Like _you_ ,” and she knows about John, about what they are, how they are. What they understand about one another; what they can and cannot give. 

It could be far worse, though. Angelica’s never been less than grateful for that much; she is not like her sister. She is not _good_ in that way, and deserving anything more has never been for her.

“And I’m sorry,” Eliza carries on, tone growing just a hint hysterical. “I’m—”

“Shhh,” Angelica tries to calm her, cards through her hair again, and again, and again until her breathing settles, until Angelica begins to form a plan in her mind that she can see, that she can watch unfold behind her eyes. 

“We just breathe differently, love,” she eventually says, and she doesn’t regret that about herself, or even about Alexander exactly; she regrets what it does to the people who love openly, with every soft part of their unfettered hearts. “But if people like us won’t ever be satisfied?”

She turns Eliza to face her, and cups her sister’s cheeks in her hands before she promises with all she is:

“Let’s see if _you_ can be.”

 

——————————————

 

The door slams when he comes home. He passes the guest bed on his way to his study, Angelica knows. The light beneath the threshold will be too much for his curiosity, a beckoning call. 

The door creaks as it’s eased open. Angelica allows herself the cunning curls of a smile at the gobsmacked look that steals all of Alexander’s poise, his bravado, his image of all that he is and should, _could_ be.

He is a boy again, in that moment. He is small and wondering, overwhelmed—almost scared.

He once said he’s wished for war, as a child. Angelica had always suspected the one he got, in the end, was nothing like he’d ached for, longed for—hadn’t given him what he needed. Angelica suspects he never knew what he needed, not truly.

Angelica wonders if this is the war he’s been looking for his whole life, and if it is?

Oh, but if it _is_ , they will give it to him. No holds barred.

“Are you surprised, Alexander?” Eliza speaks up, naked beneath the sheets, and she sits up and bares her breasts as she eyes her husband, a challenge in her gaze that makes her sister proud; so _very_ poud. 

“Did you think I’d let you back into _my_ bed?”

“I admit,” Angelica pipes in, closes the door and latches it behind, close to Alexander’s spine as he gawks, can’t seem to prompt his legs to move at the sight of his wife in the nude, of his sister-in-law, unbothered in her underclothes as she lowers the lights. “I’m hesitant to let you into _this_ one.”

“But we’ll be going upstate come morning,” Eliza says, strong and steady with jaw pushed out.

“But not,” Angelica says, a hand at Alexander’s back, pushing him toward the bed; “before a proper send-off.”

She pushes him, not particularly gently, until his knees buckle against the edge of the bed. “You’ll wish your wife safe travels, _won’t you_ , Alexander?”

His swallow is audible; _satisfying_.

“I…” His eyes dart, his jaw slack, and Angelica snorts.

“Don’t play coy,” she chides him, unforgiving, and Eliza’s gaze is not softer.

“We _know_ better.”

Eliza surprises him—and her sister, though less so—by darting her bare legs out from the covers and hooking around Alexander’s waist, pulling him chest-first to the bed between her legs. He gasps, and then begins to pant, eyes bulging laughably as Angelica reaches over and dangles a string of orbs in front of his nose, and goodness: they’ll need to work fast before the front of his breeches follows suit.

“Are those—”

“My John’s well versed, you know,” Angelica smirks, grabbing Alexander’s wrist and giving him the beads. “Well travelled.”

Her eyes go to Eliza, now, and sees fire in them—a fire of which the origin is unclear, but it sears, and that’s the point. 

_Satisfaction_.

“Would you like to do the honors, dear?” Angelica asks; they’d discussed the mechanics, but not the details.

Eliza stares straight into pleading eyes between her thighs and she hisses:

“ _No_.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Angelica says with a tsk, unbuckling Alexander and letting his length spring free, harder than ideal but.

“Hold still,” Angelica commands, though she gives plenty of time for Alexander to voice dissent before she grabs him, elicits a cry the likes of which she’s never heard before as she works the ring to the root of his prick. He whimpers, and falls face first between Eliza’s legs.

“He’s skilled with those hands, isn’t he?” Angelica asks Eliza rhetorically, instructs Alexander implicitly, but he’s not stupid: he starts working her open immediately and Angelica nods approvingly beyond either of their conscious awareness at the way Eliza’s neck arches, her lashes flutter closed.

“And that mouth,” Angelica adds, once Alexander's eased the balls into Eliza’s heat. “Would you like him to put that to good use for you, love?”

Eliza can only moan in response as she clenches against the weight of the _Ben Wa_ balls, but it’s confirmation as much as anything, and Alexander’s tongue at her folds is a revelation, just to watch.

Angelica’s not too proud to refuse admitting that she’s fantasized about it. More than once.

That she’s imagined that tongue over the one pleasuring her in her marriage bed, more often than not.

At least she’s honest, she supposes.

Alexander is lifting his hips almost desperately, avoiding too much pressure against his hardness whilst it stands beyond amelioration. 

“I like a little on the bottom myself,” Angelica says, off-handed. “Do you?”

They both moan in tandem; Angelica cannot believe her good fortune.

“Oh,” she purrs; “how _interesting_. What would you prefer, Eliza dear,” Angelica asks sweetly, as Eliza cries out when Alexander slides fingers smooth against the beads inside her, reaches down to tease her hole behind. “Two kinds of writhing?”

Angelica doesn’t wait for Eliza’s answer, but works Alexander's trousers down, tortuously slow before slipping her fingers under fabric and drumming their tips against the cleft of him, watching him fall apart.

“Harder,” Eliza moans, head tossed impossible far back as Alexander’s head tips forward between her breasts.

“You heard the lady,” Angelica whispers, and Alexander shivers at the heat of her breath on the shell of his ear.

“Angeli—”

“Your mouth is busy, darling,” Angelica reminds him, threading fingers through his hair and making certain he’s lavishing attention where attention is due. “ _Focus_.”

And he does: he does until Eliza comes undone entirely; until Alexander tenses, unable to reach completion himself, not yet.

“Are you done, love?” Angelica asks, and Eliza’s eyes are unfocused, but they know enough to answer this:

“Again.”

Alexander’s breath catches; Angelica prods his hole insistently as he bucks against her touch; groans.

“You heard her.”

Alexander doesn’t nod, but he makes to reach for his cock, wet from the slit as he goes for the ring.

“No!” Angelica grasps his hands and holds them hard against the bed.

“Cheeky,” she calls him out, and all he can do is writhe, and moan, and nearly weep. “Is this how you convince your colleagues?” she asks him. “Does _Congress_ see you whining, begging?”

Alexander’s lost to words, though. Ironic, for a man like him.

“Make her come one,” Angelica breathes against the back of his neck; “more,” she runs teeth against his earlobe: “ _time_.”

Alexander is shaking, can barely hold himself up.

“Then you can take it off.”

Alexander works one hand at each opening, frantic, while he moves desperately between tonguing nipples and suckling at the sweet spot between Eliza’s legs, and Eliza does peak, quick and soft and shameless.

And Angelica is a woman of her word. She keeps a vow, unlike others.

And so she cups Alexander's still-clothed ass and pushes him forward, clear that she wants him to service her sister in the traditional style. He fumbles the ring off painfully, wincing for how it drags against him, over-sensitive, and is almost gone himself as he aligns to enter Eliza almost by rote.

“Remember,” Angelica tells him softly, dangerous; “you do not enter her. She _takes_ you, now.”

Alexander says nothing, but looks smaller, somehow, as he thrusts once, twice, and then spills without any pride left to him, any bones left _in_ him.

Eliza is gasping, flushed and satiated, and Angelica grabs for the back of Alexander’s shirt, standing him up and turning him back toward the door, bare from the waist down.

“Go to bed now, Alexander,” she instructs of him. “Your study awaits.”

She unlatches the door before him, and does the very same behind him in kind.

 

——————————————

 

Angelica makes them tea before they leave in the morning. Eliza’s packed for herself and the children, and they’ll wake them soon, but for now, it is quiet.

The light under the door to Alexander's study is steady; constant.

Angelica sips her tea.

“I should have listened to you.”

Angelica looks up at Eliza’s voice; looks askance.

“If I _really_ loved you,” Eliza grins at her; not herself yet, but not so downtrodden as she walks over and kisses Angelica’s brow.

And Angelica giggles, clasps her sister’s hand before she pours her Eliza a cup, and they sit together, smiling at one another in the morning dim.

Satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](hitlikehammers.tumblr.com).


End file.
